


Share your feelings everyday, but i'll just smile at you

by sleepy_fl0wers



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR MY BEST FRIEND POG, Caretaking, Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Sick Character, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, cw: light mentions of vomit, i will forever hate ao3 for making their tags their actual names, it makes me want to sob, no beta cause i wanted this to be a surprise to my beta reader oh oh, so if that makes u uncomfy its best to skip this one oops sorry, softness oh so soft, they're a skephalo enthusiast so i had to pander to them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_fl0wers/pseuds/sleepy_fl0wers
Summary: When Bad actually sits up against the headboard to shake off whatever track of sleepiness may be still sticking to his closing eyelids, is when he gains enough awareness of the world that surrounds him to realize thatyep, there is definitely something wrong.Exhibit a, the unmistakable lack of Skeppy next to him, considering that he’s always the last one to wake up, in between barely recognizable mumbles ofjust 5 more minutes…and embraces of tangled limbs and soft sighs.Exhibit b, the all-consuming sensation of sinking that fills his belly, even though he doesn’t feel sick enough to be, well, sick.And, exhibit c, and the most incriminatory of them all so far, the sound of someone that’s puking their guts out just down the hallway of the open door.Oh.Yeah, that definitely cannot be good.aka. I wrote a sickfic for the first time in my life cause it's my friend's birthday and even if i dont like sickfics they do and i unfortunately i love them very much
Relationships: Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	Share your feelings everyday, but i'll just smile at you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bleeding_Cosmos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleeding_Cosmos/gifts).



> IF U ARE NOT RED JUST SKIP PAST THIS NOTESAIDHOADVFB I JUST GET TOO SOFT ON MAIN BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CLICKING I HOPE YOU ENJOY !!
> 
> Title is from [I love you baby, I love you doll by Parekh & Singh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuOK8fmEEs) :)
> 
> OKAY NOW, DEAR RED
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY !! YOURE PROBABLY THINKING PANDORA YOU FUCKER WHY DIDNT YOU LET ME BETA THIS BEFORE POSTING IT, AND TO THAT I CAN ONLY ANSWER I WANTED IT TO BE A TOTAL AND ABSOLUTE SURPRISE I AM VERY SORRY DALRING.   
> I DONT WANNA OVERSHARE ON MAIN LIKE I ALWAYS DO AND I ALREADY GAVE U A PRETTY BIG SPEECH YESTERDAY, BUT, JUST LETTING YOU KNOW YOU MEAN THE ENTIRE WORLD TO ME YOU ARE VERY COOL AND AWESOME ILYSM !!! HERE IS YOUR GIFT I AM SO SORRY I SUCK AT SICKFICS BUT I TRIED MY VERY BESTSDFKDOIFN

Maybe this day could have gone 300 ways better than it seems to be going right now.

Now that Bad thinks about it, yes, there is absolutely no way, no doubt, no place for doubt when it comes to the great fact that, really, there is, at least 300 -if not _7.1 trillion_ more- ways that today could have gone better.

Maybe in a parallel universe, he wakes up with dawn, revells in the light of the sun that escapes through the white blinds that lay calm and undisturbed against his clear window. He gets up, calm and serene, with a sweet unnamed feeling bubbling up in his chest as birds sing notes of gentle and ancient tunes.

Just maybe, in said reality he can wake with the weight of someone laying against him, breathing quiet and slowed to the point in which it can barely be heard throughout the room, like a murmur of secrets in between cold air and warmth of feelings strong and still _unbelievably_ soft, so premeditated in their placed form, yet somehow messily, to the point where it’s almost within reach of physical touch. He normally has the pleasure of waking up in said parallel, but, for some unknown reason, apparently the universe chose that today, Skeppy’s weight in their bed is not something he gets to wake up to.

But, still he is cursed to rise from unconsciousness, the swaying of a limbo between sleep awakening cold, with the winter breeze, and alone, not to add horribly dazed.   
It’s a consuming feeling of weakness that attacks him, makes him feel confused as he lays limply on his bed, feeling like an all-consuming weight is placed on top of him, not even letting him speak.   
It’s the feeling of dread he normally gets when there’s something wrong. When something -even if he might not know what it might be- is out of place, plainly, unusual.

His body feels heavy. There is no other way in which he could describe how he feels that isn’t sick. He would be worried if he had felt bad the day prior, but it’s probably just a bad feeling, he recognizes, cause he doesn’t remember the last time he woke to such instability.

When Bad actually sits up against the headboard to shake off whatever track of sleepiness may be still sticking to his closing eyelids, is when he gains enough awareness of the world that surrounds him to realize that _yep, there is definitely something wrong_.

Exhibit a, the unmistakable lack of Skeppy next to him, considering that he’s always the last one to wake up, in between barely recognizable mumbles of _just 5 more minutes…_ and embraces of tangled limbs and soft sighs.

Exhibit b, the all-consuming sensation of sinking that fills his belly, even though he doesn’t feel sick enough to be, well, sick.

And, exhibit c, and the most incriminatory of them all so far, the sound of someone that’s puking their guts out just down the hallway of the open door. _Oh._ Yeah, that definitely cannot be good.

Especially when you take into consideration that the only two people that live in the flat are him and- _him and Skeppy._  
Bad doesn’t think he’s ever bolted out of his bed as quickly as he’s doing now, sheets that laid on his lap mercilessly thrown out of the way in milliseconds, as he gets up so fast his knees almost buckle under the weight of his body, after laying sprawled across a mattress for hours.

He goes through the half-opened door to the bedroom, quickly slipping through the hall with heavy footsteps and even a heavier heart. It beats inside -or more like _out of_ \- his chest; rapid pulsing, steady and following an incessant rhythm of inhales and exhales ordered by his, too, heavy lungs inside of his ribcage. _In, out, in, out, in, out-_ he lets it follow during what feels like minutes upon minutes that stack into hours, even though he is painfully aware that it’s barely been a minute if walking towards the bathroom.

Speaking of, once he gets there, the first thing he does is knock, movements quick and laced with worry.  
“Geppy?” he asks, knuckles still against the white door. He’s met with no answer, and so his hands travels down towards the handle of the door.  
He twists his wrist, but is met with the restriction of the knob not turning as it normally would. The door’s been locked, and another guttural, raw sound of a gag, followed by retching fills the room, even through the imponent piece of wood, and white walls that stand between them.

Bad still, uselessly, he knows, tries to turn the door handle again, the sound of the metal struggling to let him through echoing through the empty house.

“Skeppy, please, open the door,” He decides to try again. “I’m right here! Let me help you, please.”

“No!” Skeppy exclaims rather quickly, and Bad can’t help but wince slightly at how rough and hurt his voice sounds, probably thanks to the effort caused by vomitings for _god knows how long…_ "I don't want you to see me like this! I'm okay!"

Bad feels the small, sad press of his lips into a smile rather than actually registering his brain forcing it onto his features. He feels terrible, standing uselessly on the other side of the door when he could be in there helping Skeppy feel better.

"Skeppy… _just-_ just let me in!" He tries as best as he can to think of a way for the man on the other side of the door to let him in. He knows him, knows how stubborn he can be at times. It's honestly something he has learnt to love about him, but right now, it just worries him. "Please, I promise it'll be alright."

The small snapping sound of the metal of the doorknob unlocking is deafening, almost trailing off for a few seconds, before Bad's frozen hands finally decide to listen to the commands his brain orders them, moving to open the door in a swift movement.

The sight of the state in which Skeppy is in makes him let out a sigh.

Bad's known he feels _way_ too much, _way_ too strongly for a long time; he's been told it ever since he was a kid, getting attached easily, wishing strongly, loving even more so.

Ever since he knew Skeppy, he knew he would have given anything for him, even back when their friendship was only that; with no confessions of feelings and a lack of mumbled, soft trickling words that hold the universe itself, the weight of stars and planets, of constellations and nebulae. Conversations that trail off in the middle of the night, built off of nothing and everything at the same time.

He's always had it so clear, that he would give it all for Skeppy, everything so that he can be okay, so that he never needs to experience anything that isn't happiness and the gentle tinges of tranquility that deep-rooted, honest joy carries in itself.

To not know what he can do to ease the pain Skeppy is obviously going through, is worse torture than whatever else he can imagine.

"Oh love," he trails off as he enters the small room, and joins Skeppy's side sitting on the floor.

His face is pale, yet red veins are noticeable popping out in some sections of his cheeks from the effort of throwing up, eyes tired and droopy, and he looks simply _weak_. Bad's heart aches in his chest, beats in a song of melancholy, and he hates it.

He moves his arm with a gentle touch, something he can only hope is soothing as he embraces Skeppy, drawing small circles in his back with his hand, as he lifts up the other to check his temperature.   
"Are you cold?" He asks, when Skeppy's forehead feels scalding against his fingertips, and he's officially beginning to get _really, really_ worried.

Skeppy looks sleepy, eyes staring at him half open like he's trying to register what Bad is saying, and failing to do so. After seemingly, the recognition of the question strikes him in the middle of his fever-induced daze, he finally nods in response. 

It dawns upon Bad how dangerous it could be for him to let Skeppy fall asleep when his fever is this bad. It's terrifying for a second too long, the idea of what could go down if he doesn't do something _right now._

He looks around the bathroom quickly, looking for anything that might help him lower Skeppy's fever.   
Finally, he decides that the best thing he can do, is get him up from the ground, and back into their room as soon as possible.

"Okay," he trails off, speaking under his breath, mostly to himself, to try and relax, even for a mere moment. "C'mere Skeppy," he finally instructs.  
Skeppy looks up at him with unfocused eyes for a moment, before simply nodding once again. 

Bad smiles softly down at him, before getting up on his feet, and helping him up as well, snaking his arm under Skeppy’s to carry his weight from the bathroom, through the hallway he had so worriedly walked through mere minutes before, and towards their bedroom.

The sun is now higher up in the sky, and still glaring at them with it’s beams through the curtains. While normally, Bad is sure Skeppy would greatly like and appreciate the sunlight’s decision to say hello, right now, with its immediate warmth, it’s not so very welcome. So, after letting Skeppy lay back down on the bed, he immediately approaches the window, closing the blinds and leaving the room in faint darkness, illuminated only by the gentle traces of light that can’t quite go through the opaque surface of the curtains.

The mattress dips slightly with the weight of Skeppy’s body, slipping in and out of consciousness as he shivers with the faux waves of rushing cold that rake through his arms and legs. He reaches for a blanket when his teeth start quivering, and Bad has to as fast as he can approach him and take them from him.

“Geppy, I know you’re cold, but that’ll only make your temperature rise.” He has to explain when Skeppy protests at having the soft blanket taken away.

“But, I’m really cold.”

Bad feels terrible for a second, sitting beside Skeppy and running his hands through his hair, using the back of his palm to check if his temperature has gotten any higher. “I know you are. It’s gonna be just a couple minutes.” He reassures. “I’m right here with you.”  
If he’s not careful, the waves of heat will inevitably rise to 40 degrees, and then they’ll have to make their way to a hospital.

He gets up, as quickly as he can, walking to the bathroom to fill a small bowl with water, making his way to the kitchen, and opens the freezer to put a couple of ice blocks inside the recipient. He grabs a couple of small towels- just a small stack he found inside of a drawer.- and makes his way back to the room to find Skeppy fighting with the swaying, magnetic pull of unconsciousness, like the ebb and flow of the tide against the shore.

Bad sits down beside Skeppy again, and sets the container beside him on the nightstand. The ice has begun to do its job, melting off and leaving the water cool to the touch, bordering on cold.   
He dips one of the towels inside, and it's soaking once it’s taken out. A swift squeeze is all it takes for the excess water to seep out in the form of crystal clear droplets back into the bowl.

Bad takes the dampened towel, and places it on top of Skeppy's forehead, that hadn't gone any cooler before this, but thankfully didn't seem to get any worse either.   
Skeppy hisses at the cold, and shivers harder, if even possible. Bad hushes him, and whispers soft affirmations and words of encouragement. 

His voice is so soft, he doesn't know whether categorizing his tone as a prayer would be too far off; it's something sweet and calm, filled to the brim with peace, laced in between gentle smiles and even more gentle shy touches of hovering fingertips.

"It's gonna be over soon, I promise," Bad whispers, and gets up from his seat on the bed to grab some medicine from a cabinet filled with different pills and what looks to be cough syrups. 

After some minutes of rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, Skeppy's temperature finally seems to have gotten colder, regulated and no longer stress-inducing. Bad can't describe the relief that fills his whole form, soft excitement making itself present in a small grin. 

"See?" He asks. "I told you it would get better." 

Skeppy smiles, for the first time in what feels like hours.   
"Love you," he whispers, and it seems like sleep is finally taking over him after fighting it for so long.

"Love you, too." He responds, and yes, maybe there are 300 ways in which this day could have gone better, even if it's barely noon, and Skeppy is already out cold, but yet, Bad doesn't think he'd have it be any other way than how it turns out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading !! Comments are super appreciated :)
> 
> ONE LAST TIME MERRY BIRTH RED MWAH 
> 
> Here's [my twitter](https://twitter.com/strawberrypandy) !! come say hi :)


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